Eternal Antithesis
by bcbdrums
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes disappears soon after his return to life in London, Watson begins to worry. When Holmes returns, Watson learns all over again how different people can be in thought. Collab with KaizokuShojo.


_Disclaimer - Holmes and Watson are not ours, they are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's....obviously._

_Kai - We decided to write this fic after I disappeared for a few days. Sometimes, people don't realize the emotional distress their absence can cause..._

_bcb - ...nor do people understand that everyone thinks in different ways. This fic is essentially a re-writing of an *ahem* conversation we had after Kai's return._

_Kai - I **did** send her an email to tell her I was busy..._

_bcb- But I never received it. Hence, the following discussion. With the spotlight on how incredibly different two people can be..._

* * *

Eternal Antithesis

I have endeavoured in these memoirs to chronicle my good friend Sherlock Holmes and his astounding abilities as well as his eccentricities. Among the latter I have stated before that Holmes had the tendency to work for long periods of time without rest, often disappearing for any length of time to work on his cases. It was normal for him to do so, and eventually I did get accustomed to it, though I still worried for his safety during such times. There was one time, however, that my concern rose to a level I hadn't thought possible.

He had been away for three weeks, and not so much as a word had I heard from him. When he went, he had not even left a note or given word to Mrs. Hudson, so I was truly at a loss to know where he was or what he was doing. This time, he had truly vanished without a trace.

The first day I almost did not notice his absence. By the third day it was clear, but I had no reason to think anything of it. After all, there was nothing unusual about his leaving. But when the first week had passed, and I returned once again to an empty flat, a twinge of fear crept into my mind.

He is not the communicative type by any means, but it was unlike him to be gone for that length of time with no word whatsoever. I questioned Mrs. Hudson many times that weekend and she re-iterated with some annoyance that she had not heard him leave, nor had he left word with her. I was loath to ask Mycroft Holmes, but on the third day of the second week I sent a telegram to Pall Mall and received a brief missive in return which left me unsatisfied and strangely even more worried.

I began stopping the street urchins that Holmes occasionally employed as I saw them, asking if he had assigned them any work recently and only got replies to the negative. As the third week came around, I took myself to Scotland Yard and mentioned the affair to Inspector Lestrade, who was as close to an official confidant as my friend would ever come. But the man had heard nothing.

On Lestrade's advice, Sherlock Holmes was declared missing and a search was started that day. Erratic thoughts began to flood my mind with that official pronouncement. Was my friend injured? Was he in pain? Was he even alive? Perhaps some remaining agent of Professor Moriarty's had returned to take vengeance.

It had not been two months since Holmes's return to England, and there were quite a few lackeys of the great criminal who had served their sentences and were once again free to impose evil upon the good people of Her Majesty's kingdom. And more than once, attempts had been made upon our lives since the arrest of Colonel Moran.

I was sitting in Baker Street before some low-crackling embers exactly twenty days since I had last seen Sherlock Holmes, my mind riddled with all manner of terrible scenario that may have been the reason for his disappearance when the man himself sauntered through the door to the sitting room.

I stared, scarcely able to believe my eyes as he tossed his hat onto the table and began to remove his gloves. "Mrs. Hudson is behaving rather oddly," he stated casually as he moved toward the mantel, "She's just informed me she's making stew. She knows I dislike her stew," he muttered, a puzzled look coming over his features.

My jaw dropped and I stared for a long moment before I found my voice. "Where have you been?!"

He turned to face me, a slight appearance of confusion on his face, "I've been on a case. Quite an interesting one, too," he replied, lowering his eyes speculatively to the pipe in his hand.

I was still dumbfounded, not only to see him but that he was totally unaware of the stir his disappearance had caused. I knew I should remain calm, but I didn't seem to have control of myself.

"What kind of case?!" I asked incredulously.

"There was a counterfeiting ring in Kent, and the matter was brought to my attention by a letter. My client wanted me to investigate a minor matter which eventually led to my discovery of the false notes." Holmes proceeded to fill his pipe as he spoke, his nonchalant tone bringing me to anger for some reason.

My eyes followed his every move as he filled the pipe and struck a match. I could feel my heart rate quicken as I silently stared at him. It was as if I were seeing a ghost after so much time with no communication whatsoever. And especially as I had really not yet become used to seeing him alive again after Reichenbach.

Old nightmares about Switzerland returned to me and my voice was just below hysteria when I found my voice again. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

Holmes paused in lighting his pipe, finally meeting my eyes. "Are you all right, Watson?"

My eyes widened in disbelief. "How can you ask that? You were gone for three weeks without so much as a telegram and expect me to be all right?!"

The detective looked puzzled. "What? I _did_ send a wire, two weeks ago!" he responded somewhat defensively.

"I never received it!" I all but shouted, unable to control my exasperation.

"Oh..." he said, a look of slow realization coming to his eyes, "I'm...sorry. I didn't know. Though, I wondered why you didn't wire back asking me if I needed you…"

I stood up and crossed to my desk, unable to look at him. How dare he make this about _him_?

I gripped the edge of the desk with my hands, my back hunched slightly as I lowered my chin to my breast trying to force my mind back to a logical way of thinking. I was not very successful.

"You couldn't send another wire?" I asked through gritted teeth, keeping my back to him.

"I didn't know you hadn't received the first," he replied with a calm that only made my anger grow. But I forced some of that calm back into my tone. A small voice somewhere inside me kept pushing the thought forward that he wouldn't hurt me intentionally. But I wasn't really hearing it.

I could smell the smoke from his pipe as it slowly made its way through the room. I traced the edge of some blotting paper with my finger as I spoke quietly, but I could hear the biting edge to my voice coming through the false calm.

"But you wondered why I hadn't answered. Did you not find that singular enough to send another message to ascertain my well-being?" I asked, trying to catch him at…something, though I didn't know what.

"I suppose I thought you were too busy to reply." I could feel his eyes on me as he spoke, and that concentrated, analysing stare was enough to make me boil over. I clenched the blotting paper in my hand and turned toward him sharply, glaring venomously.

"You did not find it at all out of the ordinary?! You are more a creature of habit than I. When any of your little requirements are not met you go absolutely mad. We are always in communication, Holmes. Didn't you find my silence the least bit disconcerting?!"

Holmes looked down briefly at his pipe, fingering it, "Yes...just a little," he replied, avoiding my eyes.

"A little?!" I could hear the irrationality of my tone and words, but couldn't stop myself from practically screaming at him. "Holmes, for all I knew you could have been dead!"

Holmes responded immediately, looking back up at me. "Watson...I did send a telegram..."

I stayed silent for a moment, unable to read his granite eyes. I walked back to my armchair and sat down heavily, looking into the fire as I tried to calm my breathing. I imagine I looked quite curious to him as I sat there, my mind recalling his letter to me on the cliffs of the Bernese Alps. I recalled the devastating beauty of the place that I was wholly unable to appreciate after reading his words to me, and I had recalled the place again many a night since his return, wondering why he lied to me.

I had accepted his explanation of course, and rationalized the situation in my mind each time the doubts came. But it was still very much an open wound. To think that my friend was alive and needed help, and I was unaware and helpless to aid him brought me great distress.

"I...I know," I finally sighed, letting the logic of the situation enter my mind, "I can't...I don't blame you for the inadequacy of the post. But really..." I looked up at him, "did you not think that I might worry? Even a week without communication and I was a nervous wreck. Three have nearly destroyed me. You can't imagine the things that I've been thinking might have happened to you..." I murmured, throwing the wadded-up paper into the fire. It ignited immediately, the flames transforming it into black dust within seconds. Hot, black dust.

Holmes silently set his pipe on the table beside him, "I apologize. I should have known you didn't get it. I know my Watson better than that..."

"Didn't you think before leaving that I would have wanted to join you?" I said, the frustration coming back to me. His attempt at kindness had touched a nerve for some reason.

"You were gone, and the best train was about to leave. There didn't seem to be any danger, or I would have waited for you to come with me," he explained.

"I would have wanted to come, danger or not. I always enjoy your cases. You know that," I argued coldly, my eyes almost threatening him to try to rationalize his actions again. No matter the reason for them, he was wrong.

I watched his brow furrow and his thin lips compress, as he considered my words. But as always, his thoughts were hidden from me behind a cool mask. "This is not the first time I have gone on a case without you."

"No, but it's the first time you've gone for a significant length of time without saying anything..." I said quietly. His calm was maddening, and a new wave of anger overtook me as I looked at him again. "Why on earth did you leave without saying anything?! It was as if you had vanished into thin air..."

I paused, thinking for a moment. His placid face suddenly made me very nervous, and I frowned at him morosely. "It would have been different if you had said something. Anything at all. A simple 'going away on a case' would have sufficed better than nothing. But the not knowing Holmes... What could I think?" I looked down, muttering to myself, "At least in Switzerland I knew what had happened. Or thought I knew..."

I didn't look up to see if my unfair barb had affected him at all, but as moments of silence stretched into minutes I knew it had.

"Watson, I've said I'm sorry..." he stated plainly. "If I had known the case was going to be this long and that it would worry you so, I would have arranged things better." He paused and I looked up at him and saw that he was frowning. "I didn't think it would be another time like at the Falls for you." He settled back deeply into his chair, muttering as he looked at me with his dark eyes. "It was enough the first time, I think."

I started slightly, surprised at his last words and knowing the meaning behind them. I thought for a moment, taking time to choose my words for the first time that evening.

"I...I'm sorry. I'm not blaming you Holmes. I was just...worried. I feared you had been captured by an old nemesis, or met with a dreadful accident of some sort... The mind can be a deadly enemy... It was as if all the powers of evil were descending upon me and every possible terror was laid before me..." I took a shaky breath, "I hadn't realized...how afraid I was of losing you. Again."

Holmes's eyes widened and he looked at me curiously and earnestly, seeming to replay my words in his mind as he searched my face. "I never would have dreamed..."

I studied the upholstery as he trailed off, mentally berating myself. It was unfair of me to visit old nightmares upon him as well. I was surprised to feel a tear roll down my cheek, and hurried to apologize while I still had control of my voice.

"I'm sorry... It's not your fault. I shouldn't allow myself to panic over nothing..."

"It's not 'nothing'. I disappeared for three years, letting you as well as the world think me dead, and a few months after I return I nearly do the same thing." He paused then, seeming to for the first time process that thought. "I am hardly an adequate reasoner if I did not see how the situation, so close after my return from the former event, would affect you."

I looked up at him in earnest, only wanting to undo any damage my outburst might have caused. "No...no, it is not your fault. I cannot expect you to predict my thoughts. That is hardly within the realm of a reasoner."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he said, taking his pipe up once again. "At least your fears did not prove to be correct," he said, the plain tone of the logician coming back to his voice.

I pondered as he lit his pipe and tossed the spent match into the grate. As much as I was telling myself my feelings had no basis in reality, I was still stewing in a combination of anger and despair. And all from the same cause, deeper than lost telegrams or recurring nightmares. I could not escape the question that hounded at my spirit daily as I observed the way he moved coolly through life, avoiding emotion at all costs.

_Does he __care for me as much as I care for him? Does he realize how important his friendship is to me? _

I watched him as he smoked, staring into the fire, his face as unreadable as ever. I would probably never get an answer to those questions. But…unanswered cries of the heart wouldn't change my own feelings. I knew as I watched him then, that any sin he could commit wouldn't lessen my loyalty and friendship for him. I would just have to be satisfied…

My thought were broken by Sherlock Holmes's quiet, dry laughter and I focused my gaze to see him smirking lightly at me, smoke rings floating lazily about his head.

"At least you didn't send the Yard to recover me..."

I felt my mind come back to reality with his pronouncement, and hurriedly rose from my warm chair.

"I need to send a telegram," I said, walking to my desk. I dipped my pen and scribbled a quick note to Lestrade telling him all was well. I heard Holmes shift and wondered if he had deduced my actions.

"You didn't," I heard suddenly from over my shoulder and whirled around to see him looking incredulously at what I had written. I wondered how on earth he had gotten so close to me without my knowing, and I nervously tore the note off the foolscap and walked briskly out from under his stare to the hall door.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I called.

"You _did_!" he exclaimed, following me to the door.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I rushed out the door trying to evade Holmes and whatever lecture he had prepared for me. Thankfully my salvation arrived in the form of our landlady with a tray of food.

"Yes?" she answered, cocking a curious eyebrow at the two of us.

"I need to send a telegram. Get Billy to take this down to the office, please?" I said somewhat shakily, tugging nervously at my collar.

"Certainly, Doctor," she said, her eyes passing over me and then looking up at Holmes. She gave him a disapproving look and I felt him flinch behind me. Perhaps I could avoid a lecture after all. "And where in Heaven's name have you been?!" she scolded. "Worrying the Doctor and I 'til our eyes went red from the sleepless nights," she glared, waiting for an explanation.

I saw Holmes frown and sigh impatiently as he answered her, "I've been on a case."

"And not so much as a word for your loved ones? Tsk tsk..." she said, shaking her head as she handed me the tray and took the paper to send down to the telegraph office. I turned to go up the stairs but Holmes was barring my way.

"Who was in charge of the search?" he asked condemningly.

I hesitated. "…Lestrade."

"Lestrade!? I would have been lost to the world with him in charge. They never would have found me!" he complained, throwing his hands up wildly and letting them land on his hips as he stared at me with a menacing raised eyebrow. I was too annoyed at this point to play along with his theatrics.

"I believe you," I frowned. "Nearly a week of official searching and not a trace..." I looked at him pointedly before pushing past him with the tray and re-entering the sitting room.

He followed me inside and fell into his armchair with a sigh, inspecting his pipe. "Cannot even find a lost detective..." he muttered, but I saw him smiling lightly.

I set the tray down and sat at the table and took the lid off of the stew, staring absently as the steam rose wildly from the savoury liquid.

"Not a trace..."

Holmes looked back at me, a slight confusion on his countenance. I didn't acknowledge him however, my thoughts drifting back through time as the steam reminded me of a colder mist three years ago, swirling up and around me, and haunting images flooded my mind.

I absently reached my hand out to the condensation that had collected on the inside of the lid.

"Careful, that's—"

"OW!"

"—hot. Are you all right, Watson?" he asked, as I put my burned finger into my mouth.

"Yes...yes, fine," I grimaced, reaching my other hand for a spoon to serve the stew. We sat in silence for several moments, and I unintentionally voiced my melancholy thoughts.

"Why couldn't you tell me about Reichenbach...?" I murmured quietly, carefully filling the bowls with the rich liquid. I glanced up at Holmes when he didn't answer, and he quickly turned his attention to his pipe.

"I believe I'm running a bit low on tobacco..."

I suddenly felt anger take me again, and I slammed the serving spoon down, stew splattering upon the tablecloth.

"How on earth can you think of tobacco?! I know you, Holmes. You just don't want to let yourself feel anything. You shut out the things you don't want to deal with!" I shouted, my eyes flaming with fury he didn't deserve but I couldn't control.

Unflappable as ever, Holmes slowly drew on his pipe. "I simply stated that I'm running low on tobacco, which is true."

I took a deep, enraged breath but said nothing, desperate to reign in my temper and not say anything else that I would later regret.

"You're still thinking about it," Holmes said when I didn't reply.

I looked down, resting my head on hands. "Aren't you?" I said with more bitterness than I intended. I studied the moist spots of splattered stew on the tablecloth, and observed I had put my elbow in some of it. "Blast…"

I heard Holmes sigh quietly as I dabbed at the mess with a napkin. I glanced at him furtively and saw that he was studying me intently, no doubt trying to gauge my mood and anticipate my next action. I really needed to learn to control my temper.

"My mind had begun to move on..." he said quietly, and I continued to clean the spilled stew. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" he said, looking at me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

"I..." I paused, surprised at his words. I closed my open mouth and looked at him seriously. "Do you mean that? Is that a sincere offer to help?"

"Yes."

I blinked, surprised at the simplicity and honesty of his words and indeed, the expression in his pale eyes.

"Well...then......" I thought for a moment. "What I want...all I need really...." I paused as I suddenly felt a lump in my throat, and fought back the tears that came unbidden to my eyes, "...is just to know that I am worth more to you than the value of a lost telegram."

"Your worth? My dear Watson, you are invaluable," he answered immediately. I sighed, recognizing the fallacious tone of his voice. He wasn't answering my question. "Is that not enough?" he continued when I didn't reply. I looked at him steadily.

His gaze was unfaltering as I stared him down, and I knew sadly that I would get no more words from him on the matter. As trying as this had been on me, I could not call myself a friend if I demanded more of him. I truly couldn't blame him for my fears.

But of those fears, there was one that still held fast. The one remaining voice that whispered in the dark of every night, whether he was there or not. It told me that he felt nothing and would one day depart as he had done this time, with not a word to spare unless it be one of contempt.

I looked down at the tablecloth as that terrible feeling gripped my soul. I knew in my heart the idea was ridiculous and unfounded. But events such as his trip to Kent, and the dreadful affair at the Reichenbach Falls kept bringing the voice back.

It was that fear which I wanted him to refute, but I could hardly explain it to him. I barely understood it myself. I would simply have to be satisfied with what he was capable of giving, or forever live in fear.

I looked up to acknowledge him and felt a small gasp come unbidden to my lips as I saw something I never thought to see. For an instant, in his eyes I saw the same worries, the same pains and the same joys I felt regarding him. All directed toward me.

His mask was back up in an instant when my gaze met his. But I had seen into his heart for a mere sliver of time. And I knew in that second, what I wanted and needed to know.

I felt tears come unbidden to my eyes as I smiled tightly at him. "Yes, that's enough," I said, holding his uncertain gaze.


End file.
